For
the very top quality madness, as perhaps you will know from your own
experience, you have to go to France. So
below is a short story by French writer Guy de Maupassant. It is a little long for a blog post so I’ll
put it up in two parts. You will have to
wait one more week for the ending.
The
language in the version I had was very challenging, so I have edited it in
order to make it simpler. This was first
published in French in 1882.
An
edited version of “Mad” by Guy de Maupassant, part 1 (of 2):
Am
I insane or jealous? I don’t know which, but I suffer horribly. I committed a
crime it is true. But is not insane jealousy, betrayed love, and the
terrible pain I endure enough to make anyone commit a crime, without
actually being a criminal?
I
have loved this woman to madness —and yet, is it true? Did I love her? No, no!
She owned me body and soul, I was her plaything, she ruled me by her smile, her
look, the divine form of her body. It was all those things that I loved but the
woman contained in that body, I despise her; hate her. I always have
hated her, for she is impure. She is but a mass of soft flesh in which lives
impurity!
The
first few months of our union were deliriously strange. Her eyes were
three different colors. No, I am not insane, I swear they were. They were gray
at noon, shaded green at twilight, and blue at sunrise. In moments of
love they were blue and nervous. Her lips trembled and often the tip of her
pink tongue could be seen, as that of a reptile ready to hiss. When she raised
her heavy lids and I saw that passionate look, I shuddered, not only for the
unceasing desire to possess her, but for the desire to kill this beast.
When
she walked across the room each step resounded in my heart. When she disrobed
and emerged impure but radiant from the white mass of linen and lace, a sudden
weakness seized me, my limbs gave way beneath me, and my chest heaved; I was
faint, coward that I was!
Each
morning when she awoke I waited for that first look, my heart filled with rage
and hatred for this beast whose slave I was; but when she fixed those blue eyes
on me, that lazy look showing traces of sleep, it was like a burning, unquenchable
fire within me, inciting me to passion.
When
she opened her eyes that day I saw a dull, indifferent look; a look devoid
of desire, and I knew then she was tired of me. I saw it, knew it, felt
right away that it was all over, and each hour and minute proved to me that I
was right. When I beckoned her with my arms and lips she shrank from
me.
"Leave
me alone," she said. "You are horrid!"
Then
I became suspicious, insanely jealous; but I am not insane, no indeed! I
watched her slyly; not that she had betrayed me, but she was so cold
that I knew another would soon take my place.
Vocabulary:
to
betray – to be unfaithful or disloyal
to
endure – to bear something unpleasant, like pain or discomfort
to
despise – to hate with intensity
deliriously
– madly, crazily
twilight
– The half light when the sun is below the horizon
to
possess – to own
to
disrobe – to undress; to take off a robe
to
be radiant – to be glowing; shining
to
be unquenchable – to be something which cannot be
extinguished, put out or removed. For example: He has an unquenchable thirst
for knowledge. He is always eager to learn new things.
to
incite – to cause; inspire. For example:
His words incited the crowd to violence.
to
be indifferent – to be without interest or emotion
to
be devoid of something – to be entirely without something. For example: He killed himself because he was
devoid of hope.
to
beckon – to make a motion encouraging someone to come closer
to
shrink from – to move away from; to be unwilling to go near
slyly – cunningly; secretively
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